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ON A QUIET DAY in April 1968, Peter Haran woke early in his tent at the Australian base at Nui Dat, and went to shave and shower. His shaving mirror hung from a tree. The face in the mirror had hollow, sunken cheeks. The eyes were ringed with shadows. Haran looked like a sick man of fifty, felt chronically fatigued, and could barely rouse himself to walk to the shower and lift the bucket of water. He had just turned twenty.
Haran had joined the army as a regular soldier in 1966, at the age of eighteen, and trained as a dog handler in a combat tracking team. "I was dragged through the Vietnam War on the end of a 20-foot clog leash," he writes. "I ... spent the war ...